Not exactly. But something felt… off. Like she was trying too hard to fit into a life that still hadn’t stopped bleeding. By the end of summer, she’d moved in. She started small. Rearranged the living room. Changed the scent of the soap. Threw out the half-used shampoo bottle his mom had left behind. “It’s expired, honey,” she’d said with a smile.
Then came the bigger things. The framed wedding photo disappeared from the hallway. His mom’s apron vanished from the pantry hook. When Lucas asked, Dana said gently, “I didn’t think we needed to keep clutter that makes us sad.” Clutter. That’s what his mother had become. She even changed the photos in the living room.